Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Belt it, baby! Or not?

Belting is a grand American singing tradition, no doubt about it. Some good stuff there over the decades.
But when did we decide to belt EVERYTHING? AND when did we decide to melisma-ize everything in the pop world? Are pop singers being paid by the "note"? I call it "note" because often their melisma-izing of things like the Star Spangled Banner is so full of "pitchy, dawg" "notes" that really can't be recognized as being true notes or rhythms in some way (Music Theory 101 students-good luck notating the growls, slides, and whines and such in the clip below). Or maybe each and every melisma here, and all the belted grunts, groans, and howls are actually a display of semiotic genius? I dunno.

Finally there seems to be a push back by more and more people at this weedy garden of pop divas and their imitators. Renee Flemings' performance of the National Anthem at the Super Bowl was a step in the right direction even if you didn't like the orchestral arrangement. And didn't it seem odd that people were gushing (before the fact) that a "REAL OPERA SINGER" was going to sing at the Super Bowl? " OMG, a real opera singer, I wonder what that might sound like?", seemed to be the question on the lips of every vapid, pop-world oriented person in America. Dang- seriously?

Down below is a post today by the ever insightful Michael Finke called "A Meditation on the Overworked Belter". What do you think of this? I shared this on FaceBook to friends and all my classically trained pals (but many of them also do the pop world , too) agreed with Finke. Not surprisingly "Let it Go" from "Frozen" came up in this FB discussion. I answered back to one comment with "nodes never bothered me anyway"- as in vocal nodes for those who don't know the reference! Anyway, see what you think of Finke's thoughts. Keep in mind that he isn't against belting at all- just against it being done constantly, and without consideration of the lyrics and the plot.

But first let me present my idea of great belting in service of lyrics and plot- a performance that always brings chills to me, especially enhanced by the lighting at the end, and which doesn't turn into belting until near the end of the tune (and ever so gradually builds into it over about a full minute of singing, starting at about the 2:00 mark). Here is Liza Minnelli in the film version of Cabaret (hey Warner Brothers, hope you're okay with me placing this here).

Before I dive into the topic of “belting,” let me begin
by saying that I (like many others) always appreciate the power of a
singer or performer that can reach impossible pitches at impossible
decibels. It can be a thrilling moment when an actor fires off all
missiles into a single word or phrase. But that being said, I have come
to wonder if the modern age of musical theatre belting has come to
parallel the American stereotype of overwhelming excess.

I know, I know. If a composer likes to write songs strictly for
belters, and a singer only likes to perform songs for belters, and an
audience wants to hear said singers belting, then what’s the harm?
Sometimes such musical moments can function in an immensely cathartic
way causing one to rejoice, sob, or somewhere in between. However, like
most things in life, too much of one thing can ultimately impair the
greater objective at hand.

Belters… let it go. (Photo: Lucy Nicholson / Reuters)

Belting, or screlting, or masking-belting-by-mixing, or whatever you
want to call it could potentially be seen as an epidemic in musical
theatre. Some nights I go out to the theatre and realize I’m being
belted at for a solid two hours in which there is no juxtaposition or
shifting of tone/ambiance at any point in the show. Now I am the last
person to categorize rules when it comes to creating any type of
theatre. But I can’t help but ponder the static feeling of hearing
“belting song” after “belting song” after “belting song.”

What has lead to this type of environment? Is it the offensive
skyrocketing of ticket prices, in which audiences want guaranteed
moments that say their money was well spent? Is it the business of pop
culture, in which the loudest tend to get the most attention? Or is it
the theory that people will always be more dazzled by the flexing of a
vocal range rather than the flexing of a thought or idea within a song?
Let’s create a scenario in which you, the reader, are sitting in a
room with a musical theatre actor performing a song. The content of the
song is about (just for the sake of an example) a woman who just lost
her husband. The song is heartbreaking, the performer is equally moving,
and the song generally has a reasonable range. But suddenly and without
warning, the melody soars high into the stratosphere of sheet music.
The performer is blasting all possible sound while sounding absolutely
gorgeous. Now I’ll pose a question: is your mind still focused on all
that the character is experiencing? Or is your mind focused on how
impressed you are that the singer can hit those notes? Or both?

No wrong answer here. But I tend to find myself shifting my frame of
mind from the content of the song to the skill set of the singer. I’m
not saying both cannot be achieved at the same time, but I do believe it
is a very intricate line to balance. And as a musical theatre writer,
I’m constantly unnerved by having musical moments result in a muscular
distraction (albeit a fun/sexy distraction, but a distraction
nonetheless).
Another composer once (harshly) stated that “Some writers use belting
as a means of hiding behind their own material.” That statement caught
me off guard (as I’m certainly a composer who has asked his actors to
hit their fair share of tough pitches). I would much rather phrase the
statement in an alternative/productive way – “There’s a time and place
for certain qualities of music, and sometimes the choice is in the wrong
place and/or the wrong time.”

In old school
musical theatre (for all of its glory and all of its embarrassments),
the use of vocally charged moments seemed to arrive at very meticulous
plot points. A former musical composition teacher once said to me, “The
most important note should always be the loudest!” (there are those damn
words again! Always or should.) And while those kinds of restrictions
rub me the wrong way, I have come to understand it as a helpful tool.
Take Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Carousel for example. An incredibly emotionally draining play, Carousel
handles heavy topics such as suicide, spousal abuse, misogyny, and a
giant pile of pure self-loathing. And yet the one moment you hear any
character belt is when the protagonist, Billy Bigelow, is deciding
whether or not to support his unborn child or die trying. I’ll reiterate
that: he’s either going to support his future baby or die. And that was
the one moment in which Rodgers decided, “Yes. Let’s ask him to pump up
the volume a bit.” (Not a direct quote, but it’s fun to imagine.)

Cabarets and concerts are a different experience entirely. With an
influx of alcohol, social gatherings, and a crowd that sometimes consist
of a short attention span, it’s understandable to have multiple singers
stand onstage and create as much sound as necessary (although some song
cycles/concerts manage to pull off the opposite in the most astonishing
of ways, i.e. the works of Ricky Ian Gordon or John Bucchino). But when you’re dealing with a more direct linear narrative, such tools can often backfire.

Every show is different. Every composer is different. And more power
to the composer who strictly writes song for belters (and the singers
who love the material). However when the most poignant moment in a show
can be as quiet as “Send in the Clowns,” “You Must Love Me” or the
revelatory concluding duet, “Pierre and Natasha” (Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812),
my brain and my heart are equally dazzled. Many new musical theatre
writers are able to capture that somber but resiliently breathtaking
aesthetic in wonderfully dramatic ways. Everything from Gaby Alter’s “Deep in February” to Miller and Tysen’s “One of These Nights”
can stir a cacophony of emotions, while asking the singers to exercise
different parts of their instrument beyond their own vocal chords.